Silence, My Brother
by sithmarauder
Summary: Aventus Aretino joins the Dark Brotherhood, much to Nelkir's displeasure. Aventus Aretino/Nelkir, background m!Dragonborn/Vilkas.


_This is another fic for my series "Pledge Your Allegiance", following the Listener, Arthion, and the restoration of the Dark Brotherhood. It's a bit of a side story, though it's certainly my longest one-shot to date, and it deals with the relationship between Aventus Aretino and his fellow assassin Nelkir, Jarl Balgruuf's youngest son. It also alludes to and portrays the events in "Nero Fiddles, Rome Burns", so reading that may be helpful, though it's not entirely necessary._

_ Honestly, this is a bit of an "odd couples" challenge that I did for myself, though I'm actually rather proud of how it turned out. Whether you agree is up to you, but regardless, I hope you enjoy._

* * *

He was too loud. That was Nelkir's first thought when the young man stumbled in, dark hair a mass of tangles at his shoulders, grinning like some unloved relative had just died and left him all their money.

"I found it," the man declared, and Nelkir decided, at that moment, that he would be dead within the month.

-x-

His name was Aventus Aretino, an Imperial, and he was, according to the Listener, the newest member of their growing family. It had been hard to stand there and watch as the boy introduced himself confidently to the other assassins, some of whom regarded him with nothing more than amused disinterest while others were more open to his arrival, responding to his inquiries without malice or contempt. Svenja Swift-Blade, the tall, albeit dark-skinned and dark-haired Nord of their group, had even laughed pleasantly at the boy's fumbled introduction, her pretty amber eyes clearly displaying her pleasure at Aventus' reaction when it was her turn to introduce herself.

As for Nelkir, he had stood there stiffly, his flinty black eyes making it clear to the newcomer that he did not want to speak with him. Unfortunately, Aventus had ignored that, and as the assassins had begun dissipating, returning to their tasks, Nelkir had found himself approached, much to his displeasure, by the dark-haired youth—although, he conceded grudgingly, Aventus was likely close to his own age.

"The Listener has already informed me about you," Nelkir had informed him coolly, his mouth thinning into a line that clearly spoke of his irritation. Aventus, damn him, had merely ignored it, smiling. Nelkir had half expected him to start bouncing on the balls of his feet, though he noticed, rather absently, that despite his open, friendly words, Aventus was very… still, with a dangerous air of assurance around him.

"Did he?" he had asked, sounding pleased.

"He only said that you were coming," Nelkir had bit off quickly in retort, so that this youngblood would not think he was already someone of great import. "So that we didn't kill you when you walked in."

To his surprise, Aventus had merely chuckled at the scathing tone, rolling his shoulders in a shrug before he abruptly fixed Nelkir with an amused look, which had made the assassin stiffen further, his face closing off as he narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired boy's—well, he didn't know what, but it made his blood simmer.

"So, the others have been fairly open, what can you tell me about yourself?" Aventus had asked, prompting Nelkir to huff and gather his parchments.

"Nothing that the others won't tell you," he had replied almost sullenly, sneaking a glare at the young man. More than anything he had just wanted to block the newcomer out, but he knew that Nazir and the Listener would frown upon such an action. So instead he had sucked in a breath and turned to face the boy, _Aventus_, his words coming out in rapid succession: meaningless facts that everyone present already knew. "My name's Nelkir, and I am the reason Balgruuf no longer sits on Whiterun's throne."

With that, he had turned and walked stiffly (if not somewhat hurriedly) from the main area, his hands clutching papers unsteadily where they usually held a dagger without flinching or faltering.

-x-

Aventus, he supposed, settled well into their little family of death. He had lasted the month (against Nelkir's hopes and expectations), and when the Listener had approached him with his first real contract, to prove himself, he had taken it with a solemnity Nelkir had not thought him capable of. Of course, just to be infuriating, Aventus came back, task complete, and after that the other assassins were even more open towards him, excluding Nelkir, who merely snorted and switched locations when Aventus drew too close. The rational part of his mind chided him gently in those moments, telling him that he was taking first impressions too far, but another, far more prominent part whispered that he was right to hate this Aventus Arentino, who had waltzed in with his easy smile and his dark looks.

That part of his mind always sounded far too sweet, like the voice of the Whispering Lady.

If Aventus noticed Nelkir's coolness towards him—and surely he did, for he was no fool, even if Nelkir branded him as such sometimes—he said nothing, always grinning roguishly at him in a way that made the Jarl's youngest son scowl blackly for hours on end, his insides curling unpleasantly. Was he incapable of taking anything seriously?

The others, of course, had picked up on Nelkir's dislike of the young boy—_man_, his mind whispered sweetly to him, _no matter how much you want to think otherwise_—and often looked to him with amusement whenever Aventus and he stood in the same area. More and more Nelkir found he tired of Svenja's warm amber eyes on him, her gaze making his neck prickle with shame where it would have once flushed with warmth at the attention. Aventus, of course, practically preened whenever she looked upon him with favour, which was often, and Nelkir usually found an excuse to leave the room when that happened, often retreating to the upper levels of the Sanctuary to tend to the lethal garden that had been planted within, his chest tight for reasons unknown. He had no wish to watch the two of them trade flirtatious words, Aventus' handsome face smiling unabashedly at the pretty Nord woman, whose own countenance seemed to soften whenever he neared.

It was impossible to avoid him forever, though, and Aventus ensured that it was by seeking him out on occasion, if only to compliment him needlessly on the steadiness of his hand as he ground up ingredients and added them with precise movements to his various poison mixtures, learnt under Babette's tutelage.

"You're very good at that," Aventus told him sincerely, and Nelkir noticed, his hands almost faltering, that his eyes were a very vivid green in colour. With a tight expression, he continued to grind the deathbell blooms, though his strikes with the pestle had become harder.

"I studied hard," Nelkir muttered, hoping Aventus would take the hint and go away. He did not, however, and Nelkir could feel the weight of the man's green irises upon him, glimmering with intelligence that Nelkir refused to acknowledge.

"Mhm, so I'm told," came the reply, and this time Nelkir did stop, his head jerking towards the other man.

"You inquired of me?" he asked, unable to explain why his chest contorted within him even as he glared at the other man, fingers clenching painfully around the pestle. Aventus inclined his head, and a strange light entered his eye, one that made Nelkir's mouth thin.

"Yes, I did. It's not hard to imagine that I asked others, you know, since you never talk to me."

Sure that he was just imagining the bitterness in Aventus' voice—the man was incapable of anything other than his flirtatious, friendly tones—Nelkir returned his attention to the paste he was grinding, his movements slow, but assured.

"I'm busy," he responded simply, and he could see Aventus smile sharply at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, yes, I reckon avoiding me _does_ take considerable effort."

Nelkir stiffened at the dripping wryness of the man's tone, his teeth clenching, but he refused to interrupt his movements, unsure of why the tone hurt so much. Of course he knew Aventus would have figured it out, he hadn't tried to be subtle, but to have the accusation thrown at him was something he, for whatever reason, had not been prepared for. He wanted to say that he had to go, that he had something to do, but he was in the middle of brewing, and such an excuse would never be believed. Instead, he ignored Aventus' barbed words, filtering the juices of the ground ingredients, separating them from whatever remained solid. Minutes passed in silence, and Nelkir, thinking that perhaps Aventus had left, focused his mind almost entirely on his work, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as he left the mixture to sit.

"Nelkir, youngest son of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, with barely nineteen winters to his name. Asked to join after murdering his father and fleeing Whiterun, convincing the people that he had been kidnapped and killed."

Nelkir saw red, and he turned to Aventus with fury clearly etched in his features, demands to know how Aventus had known that ready on his tongue. Rationally, he knew it was common knowledge that any of the others could have told him, but he found his fingers clenched around the hilt of his dagger before he could think straight, the cool metal of the ebony blade bringing him back to his senses.

Aventus regarded him calmly, unflinching in the face of Nelkir's anger, and Nelkir hated him in that moment, red-hot rage boiling in his chest in a way he had not felt since he had first learned of his true parentage. Yet there was a difference to it, and he felt, to his dismay, a pang of hurt as well, and he asked, with slow words, why Aventus could not have just asked him that.

Aventus merely laughed.

"Would you have told me?" he said simply before bowing mockingly and withdrawing down the hallway, leaving Nelkir to pry his hand from his dagger, wondering for all the world why he cared.

-x-

"You know," Babette informed him, her voice a jarring mixture of childlike innocence and adult corruption, "not that I don't appreciate the _help_, but you can't keep avoiding Aventus forever."

Nelkir, who had been tending to the garden, stilled. When he glanced up at her, impatiently brushing strands of dark auburn hair from his face, he found the vampire looking upon him with fond mockery, as was her wont. Instantly, he felt his face heat, his hands stilling around the stems of nightshade as he stayed kneeling under the child vampire's regard.

"The Listener's turned a blind eye so far, Nelkir, but I wager he'll speak to you soon, and it _won't_ be for a contract."

Her warning cheerfully delivered, she turned and walked to speak to Nazir, leaving Nelkir with a feeling of black dread in his stomach, one that threatened to choke him even as he stood up and hurriedly rushed to the entrance of the Sanctuary, anxious to walk and lighten his thoughts.

Never had he wanted to incur anything from the Listener but simple acceptance. Since the man had shown up in his room one night, his face shrouded by the hood that seemed ever present, offering him a place of kindred souls, Nelkir had grasped at every straw presented to him, and had even, at one point, taken it upon himself to brew a special poison for him, as he had known that the Listener, a Bosmer, preferred the bow to any other weapon. To think that he was in danger of reprimand, and all because of that silly, stupid _boy…_

Abruptly, Nelkir stopped, taking in a breath of air so cold that he worried his lungs might freeze in his chest. To the untrained eye, the darkness around Dawnstar held nothing but the dreams of its inhabitants, so recently freed from the grasp of whatever had lain within Nightcaller Temple, overlooking them all. To a trained assassin, however, it held another presence, and he had to hold himself fast as a figure detached itself from the shadows, moving towards him with a grace that suited such a lithe frame.

Looking upon him, one could not help but wonder if such a man as the Listener could have truly done all he was reputed to. He was not a large individual, and as a Bosmer he was not in possession of the large muscles and long beards that Nelkir's own people, the Nords, were so fond of, but there was power contained in his wiry frame, and Nelkir knew that the armour he wore hid well the lean muscles that allowed the Listener to man and fire a bow like no other. "Strength is the boon of the Companions," the Listener had once told him after Nelkir had finished sparring with another of the assassins, the Dunmer Vaner—a fight he had lost, to his embarrassment. "Good assassins need only a swift, decisive hand."

His name was Arthion, and though they all knew it, none but two spoke it. Nazir had explained to them how the Listener had come to the Dark Brotherhood under the leadership of Astrid—not chosen by the Night Mother but a good leader all the same. When the old Sanctuary by Falkreath had fallen to flame and deceit, much of the old family perishing within, the Listener had dragged them from the ashes, reinstalling them in Dawnstar after procuring the funds from the man who had contracted their organisation to perform a task that put fear back into the hearts of Tamriel's people: the assassination of Emperor Titus Mede III, carried out by the Listener himself.

There was none more worthy of Nelkir's respect, and he had always striven to show it.

When the Listener stopped in front of him, Nelkir dropped his eyes. Though the Listener was shorter than him, he seemed taller, and with baited breath Nelkir waited for his words, which he was sure were soon in coming.

He did not have to wait long.

"Ah, so Babette did pass along word. I thought she would." The Listener's voice was warm with amusement, but there was a serious edge as well, and Nelkir felt dread build within him. For a moment, the Listener stood silent, surveying Nelkir with dark eyes partially shrouded by the hood on his head as well as the darkness not alleviated by the full moon above them.

"Why do you detest him so?"

Nelkir started, his mouth forming a soundless 'O' before he grit his teeth together. Part of him wanted to lie, to say that he did not know what the other man spoke of, but there was no point. The Listener may be warm now, but that warmth could easily freeze over if Nelkir tried to deceive him, matching the blade of the dagger he kept at his side, even though he preferred his bow.

"He infuriates me," Nelkir whispered, shaking his head. "He's so—I wonder if he takes anything seriously. He does not speak as if he does, and I find him… _impudent. _He speaks as if he knows me, as if he has the right to know me, and the _gall_ of him to—to ask of my life from others, when I stand there plain as day! What is worse, he does so with such an _expression_ upon his face that I feel myself twist in response."

There was silence after that, and Nelkir waited nervously as the Listener considered his words, though he felt lighter for speaking them. He expected a sharp reprieve, or a disapproving comment about how Aventus' worthiness was not his to judge, but he was surprised when the Listener threw his head back and laughed, the action loosening his hood, exposing the wave of black hair so often concealed underneath that curled at the base of his neck.

When he looked back at Nelkir, there was only amusement in his black eyes, though Nelkir still started slightly at the low whistle that emitted from him, and he whipped his head to the side as the snort of a horse met his ears, followed by the impatient sound of hooves against the earth as a black steed detached itself from the rocks nearby, its eyes glowing an eerie red in the gloom.

The Listener turned to the horse fondly as it neared, one gloved hand reaching out to stroke its neck. He still chuckled lowly, and Nelkir shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet.

"He _infuriates_ you, does he? Is there no other reason than that? No specific incident that earned your ire so?"

"No, Listener," Nelkir said, a sullen note entering his voice despite his attempt to keep it out. "But he grates on me like a serrated blade in flesh."

"I suspect that is a far more fitting analogy than you know," the Listener said smoothly. "You must know you are irrational. He cannot ask about your life if you continue to dismiss him with chilly words."

Nelkir snorted and tried to cover it up as a sigh, though he was hearkened by the amused twitch of the Listener's mouth at the response, even as he heard the gentle rebuke in the elf's voice. "Yes. I know. I just—sometimes I think I might try, and then I see him again and I know I cannot. I feel like I walk on unequal ground. He knows me, yet I know nothing—and I don't know if I should wish to change that."

As a younger boy, his sister, Dagny, had once haughtily informed him that they walked on unequal ground to no one in Whiterun hold, save their father and family, whose decision to accept soldiers from Whiterun had kept the hold firmly under control of the Empire. She had smiled beatifically as she had told him that, but there had been a chill to her voice, reflected in her eyes-a pale grey, unlike Nelkir's own charcoal-black. _"Although, dear brother, perhaps some within our family are on more equal ground than others."_

Her marriage vows had been taken with that same expression, but her smile had sharpened and turned haughty when she had seen him at the front of the procession—fifteen and aimless while his brother Frothar had a wife already to his name, and Dagny prepared to follow suit.

He raised his eyes to the Listener, who regarded him as he absently stroked the neck of his black horse.

"I'm sorry," he said, but the Listener merely shook his head.

"Everyone's equal only when they're dead. Sithis takes no favourites in the Void," he said, and the absent way he said it made Nelkir shiver, which in turn made the Listener's gaze sharpen on him, the amusement returning. "Mayhap you should place yourself on more equal ground then, Nelkir, son of Balgruuf. Your findings may be that you hate him less than you think." He chuckled as he spoke, as if there were something funny about it, while Nelkir merely stiffened.

"Listener…?" he said somewhat hesitantly, confused.

"Talk to him, Nelkir. I have allowed this to slide until now, but I cannot have it persist. Lachance would never let me hear the end of such a breach." It was the Listener's turn to snort, his disdain evident, but Nelkir merely blinked, confused as to what he meant. Seeing that, the Listener shook his head dismissively. "Return to the family, Nelkir, and mind what I have spoken."

Thus dismissed, Nelkir did so, conscious all the while of a new set of eyes on him—black, like his own, but laden with so many secrets that Nelkir knew better than to covet.

"Oh, and Nelkir?"

He paused, looking back.

"Nazir has a contract for you. Do speak to him about it, will you?"

With a small smile, Nelkir nodded, retreating inside the black door, the Listener's reprieve resting on his shoulders like a cloud.

-x-

Aventus sat with Svenja when Nelkir returned from the last part of his contract, and he descended the stairs to find Nazir, who was laughing richly at something Babette had said. Nazir turned when Nelkir approached, and though he waited for Nelkir to speak his words, it was clear he had predicted what he had to say.

"Keep the payment," he said when Nelkir opted to hand some of it over, as the rules for such a large contract stated. "We have been having a lovely streak of success, don't you think?"

Nelkir nodded, taking the dismissal for what it was as he retreated down the hallway that led to the room he and the other assassins shared, save the Listener, Nazir, Babette, and the insane keeper, Cicero. His contract had not been an easy one, and the blood stained his robes in several places, as well as his face where it had sprayed from the force of Nelkir's blow. He had hastened back to the Sanctuary, unwilling to take the time to clean, to show the Listener that he was not wrong to give him this chance.

He had spoken a couple times to Aventus, whose eyes had sought him and rested on his person while he spoke to Nazir, his conversation with Svenja tapering off even as Nelkir had bid his quick retreat. After his conversation with the Listener, he had endeavoured to soften himself to the other man, something that had been difficult, as he knew it would be. A nod in the hallway as they passed—which had nearly caused Aventus to walk into a door, much to Nelkir's pleasure—or a polite, if somewhat chilly inquiry as to how his latest contract had gone. At first Aventus had been wary of him, his answers being careful in tone and inflection, reflecting that wariness, but as Nelkir had continued to inquire he had started grinning, and answering with more detail and warmth.

Gradually, Nelkir had felt some of his irritation lessen, though not all, and it was even to the point where they could hold tentative conversations, much to the relief of the others, who began carefully including them both in their discussions. He had passed his twentieth winter sitting in relative comfort within the Sanctuary, sipping absently at some mead while Aventus smiled and entertained the others with tales of his latest kill. Nelkir had even had to stifle a small, smug smile when Aventus, overzealous, had nearly slid off the wooden bed he had occupied, surrounded by the other three assassins while Nelkir sat slightly to the side, still thoroughly included with them.

When Aventus had seen that smile, his own had widened, and his eyes had softened, which had made Nelkir frown slightly, looking down at his tankard with single-minded resolution until he felt Aventus' green eyes leave his person, Svenja's laughter announcing the continuation of his story.

Nelkir paused at the memory, an odd, happy buzz surrounding his thoughts, but he dismissed it. It was a pleasant memory spent in the company of the family, but hardly anything to dwell on.

His movements deft, Nelkir removed the hood of his robes, frowning at his expression in the glass of the singular mirror they all shared, for rarely were they in need of it. In its reflection he could see himself, smaller than the average Nord but taller than the average Breton, with his high cheekbones and narrow face, which had long since shed their remaining baby fat. His hair was getting long again, curling just passed his ears where he kept it combed back, and he would have to cut it soon, he knew. He stopped frowning at his reflection—with a face that would never be handsome in the way Aventus' was, but that many thought interesting, if nothing else—when he saw the figure of Aventus slide soundlessly into the room, his armour a contrast to the shrouded robes Nelkir himself much preferred.

Ignoring the man, for Nelkir assumed Aventus would speak if he though he must, Nelkir returned his attention to the small splatters of blood on his person, tucking an errant strand of auburn hair behind his ear as he did so.

To his surprise, Aventus said nothing upfront, but the silence became so strained that Nelkir found he could not bear it, and so, steeling himself, he turned.

"Is there something you need?" he asked, and though he tried to keep the impatience from his voice he was not entirely successful. Aventus, for his part, smiled wanly, as though he were trying to prevent an entirely different reaction, and shook his head. Nelkir, faintly alarmed by the smile, peered at him, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said then, and Nelkir could not help but gape.

"For what?"

"For what I said when we spoke the one time. I should not have—presumed as I did. I enjoy speaking with you, but I fear that you still hold that against me."

Nelkir felt the old anger fill him, but he closed his eyes, hearing the Listener's voice in his head as he did so.

_"He cannot ask about your life if you continue to dismiss him with chilly words."_

So, no matter how much the action pained him, he drew in a breath and shook his head.

"No, it is me who is at fault, for not allowing you the opportunity to ask me yourself."

There was some pleasure to be taken in the gobsmacked expression on Aventus' face, and Nelkir felt himself straighten as a result, chin lifting slightly in an expression he had once worn when dismissing the bootlickers that had so often filled Dragonsreach.

Dropping his hands to his side, Nelkir watched Aventus with a slightly pinched expression, and he felt a stab of confusion when Aventus' astounded expression morphed into a smile.

"So can I, then? Ask you, I mean," he amended, and Nelkir had to contend with, once more, the odd clenching of his stomach at the smile.

"I suppose," he answered, his voice cool but with a note of curiosity that Aventus would not be able to ignore.

"Why did you do it?"

His instinct was to rebuke Aventus for the bold question, to angrily tell him that it was none of his business, and that he could just _leave_, thank you, and never bother Nelkir's person again. Yet he knew he could not, not if he wanted to ensure that the Listener's faith was well placed. What was more, he found he did not want to give into that instinct, regardless of the personal nature of the question, which Nelkir knew to be about his father, and why it was now no longer Balgruuf upon Whiterun's throne. So he steeled himself once more and answered, his voice a disquieting monotone.

"Because I hated him."

Aventus seemed to study him for a few moments, but he nodded, accepting that that would be all he got—and perhaps it was all he truly wished to know. He turned, ready to leave, but Nelkir's voice stopped him, surprising to them both.

"Why are you here, Aventus?"

Another smile appeared on the man's face, a softer one, and though Nelkir could not understand why it was there, he found his shoulders relaxing slightly at the sight, though he still held onto his wariness as Aventus sat on the bed nearest the door.

"When I was little," Aventus began without hesitation, "I lived with my mother in Windhelm. We were left alone, for the most part, though things got a little tense when Ulfric's Stormcloak uprising began. We were Imperials, see, and in the eyes of many of the Nords, we were spies for the Imperial Army, and were often treated with the same disdain as the Dunmer in the Grey Quarter." He paused, and sorrow suddenly flooded his eyes. Nelkir was surprised by the way his hands clenched, not in irritation for the man, but in irritation towards whatever may have caused it. "In the year of my tenth summer, my mother sickened and died. I had no relatives, and though the Jarl sent a message with his condolences, I was also informed that I could not stay in my home at my age—and that a guard would be by to escort me to Riften, to Honorhall Orphanage, at the time owned by Grelod the Kind." A dark chuckle left him, and Nelkir felt himself draw slightly closer, sitting carefully on the edge of one of the beds, even as Aventus glanced up at him. "They would hold the house for me, they said, but…" He shook his head. "Grelod was not kind, no matter her name, so I escaped and made my way back to Windhelm, where I—where I found what I needed to perform the Black Sacrament. I wanted her dead.

"The Listener was the one who answered my call."

Nelkir blinked, opening his mouth and then closing it, which seemed to amuse Aventus, as the melancholy air around him seemed to evaporate somewhat.

"I don't think he was the Listener at the time, didn't even have the armour we never see him without, but he—he watched me, silently, and agreed, and later he returned, and pronounced the deed done. I paid him however I could, and—and I confessed I wished to do as he did, that I wanted to join, though perhaps I had not the mettle then." He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, and when he met Nelkir's eyes, they blazed an unholy green that made the assassin's breath shudder in his chest.

"When I had passed my twentieth summer, I killed a man who tried to cheat me out of my home, and after him, I killed the two witnesses. The house in Windhelm was mine permanently then, and like clockwork, the Listener showed up there, like that night years before. The rest you know." He smiled sadly. "Perhaps, one day, I can show you that house. I'd like to."

He rose to his feet, moving to leave, and Nelkir watched him soundlessly, both surprised at the revelation that Aventus was older than him, and at the story that had just been told. He was struck with the urge to say something, to alleviate the dark shadow that seemed to have fallen over the usually cheerful man, but his words stuck.

_We're on unequal ground again, you and I._

"I did not have the same mother as my siblings," Nelkir blurted, repeating the accusation the Whispering Lady had made against his father all those years ago. "My father tried to have people speak to me, because I—because he was _afraid _of me, I think now. He called me his dark child, and I always thought it was for my eyes, but…" he trailed off. "I heard, eventually, that my mother was not even a Nord, but a Breton, and that Balgruuf's wife faked a pregnancy to pass me off as her child when my mother died." His eyes grew hard. "I hated my father for his deceit, and for the chests of gold he accepted for his complacency in many things, so I—killed him. I was told I had to, by this voice; this woman's voice that spoke to me from the other side of an old, locked door. She told me to kill him, that he deserved to die, and that I could free her and myself if I took the key my father always carried and unlocked the door. She said she had something that would help me, but I—I couldn't. I had the key, but I couldn't release her, I couldn't, so when my father slept I took one of his own daggers and buried it into his neck, and it felt so _good_. I was fifteen, and I was young, but the Listener, he came to me anyway; said I could study poisons under Babette until I grew sufficiently old enough. I left before my father's corpse was even in the ground."

Aventus stared at him—stunned, Nelkir thought, for the forthcoming way Nelkir had offered the information. As for Nelkir himself, he felt suddenly… lighter, even though he had just confessed what he had told no one else to the man he had once despised. It was with a small jolt that he realised he did not despise Aventus as he once did, and with a wry smile he continued.

"I called her the Whispering Lady," Nelkir said lowly. "And I think, whatever she was, she was put there for a reason."

Carefully, Aventus stepped towards him, seemingly trying to think of something to say, but when he was close enough, when he stood before Nelkir, who rose to meet him, once again on equal ground despite Aventus' taller height, Aventus instead focused in on the smear of blood on Nelkir's face, not meeting his eyes.

"You have blood on your face," Aventus said distractedly, and Nelkir was just about to frown and return to the water basin when suddenly he felt the other assassin's hand on his face, resting there gently even as his thumb, whetted with saliva, brushed the offending stain from Nelkir's person.

For a moment, Nelkir just stared at him, stricken into stillness, his mouth open to speak a dismissal that had become stuck in his throat. Not since childhood had anyone dared to touch him so boldly, and he was unsure how to react, unsure whether to reach up and slice the offending hand from his person or whether he should let it stay there, marvelling in the tingle it left on his skin.

"Aventus, you've been called," Vaner said from the hallway, his voice breaking the new silence that had descended between them, and Aventus hastily withdrew his hand as the dark elf walked into the room. The strange moment gone, Aventus excused himself with a quick word of retreat, leaving Nelkir frowning and with more questions than answers.

-x-

There was no rapid growth of friendship between them after that, but Nelkir felt that they had come to an understanding of sorts. It was a slight relief not feeling the urge to bolt whenever Aventus walked into the room, though he never could help the stiffening of his shoulders when he found the man engaged in a no doubt witty conversation with Svenja. He chalked it up to just another irrational quirk of his, and did his best to smile thinly when Aventus would break conversation and greet him.

Svenja, for her part, never seemed bothered by Aventus' lack of attention in those moments, though Nelkir could always feel her amused eyes on his person, and the weight of her slow, controlled smile. He felt chilled at that, as if there were something he was missing, something she was making fun of him for, but he never spoke of it, and she never came forward.

With little else to do, Nelkir wandered the upper levels, pausing when the Night Mother came in sight, her faithful keeper attending to her, as always, much to Nelkir's discomfort. He had no problem with Cicero, and understood that he played an important role in the family, but there was something about the jester that made Nelkir's skin crawl, which wasn't helped by the man's high-pitched voice and the way he occasionally sang and danced to gory nursery rhymes as he lovingly tended the corpse of their long-dead matron. Had they not all been completely sure of Cicero's dedication to the Night Mother and her Listener, they would have replaced him long ago. Nazir's dislike of him was all too evident, after all.

"He's a good keeper," a voice mused, and Nelkir stiffened as he turned to view the Listener, who had slid in from the main entrance, a smile twisting his mouth where the shadows did not cover. "Despite his many quirks."

The Jarl's youngest son nodded in response to that, privately wondering where the Listener had gone to be returning so early in the morning. Of course he had his own contracts to do, but Nelkir had noticed him leaving with more frequency than usual, and staying out longer. It was not his business to inquire, though, so he said nothing about it.

The Listener watched Cicero for a few moments longer before he chuckled, turning to vanish down the stairs and through one of the halls. Before he did so, however, he turned to look back at Nelkir, one hand lingering on the bars that marked the beginning of the stairwell.

"It's good to see you and Aventus getting along better," he said before fairly melting into the shadows, as though he had never been there in the first place.

-x-

"So you've noticed it too, huh?" Aventus asked him one day, plopping himself down on the chair next to Nelkir as the auburn-haired assassin tried to prevent his inkwell from spilling all over his work, glaring at Aventus as he did so.

Around him, the other assassins exchanged amused glances and low murmurs, and Nelkir repressed a snort, bending his head back over the piece of parchment he'd lain out in front of him, his quill leaving squished black letters on the page as he wrote.

"Noticed what?" Nelkir asked finally, eerily conscious of every move Aventus made beside him, his neck heating slightly.

Aventus glanced around them for a moment, but when he was finally satisfied that the others were not within hearing distance, he lowered his head to Nelkir's ear and whispered, "the Listener."

Instantly Nelkir was alert, his mouth thinning as he turned to look dangerously at the Imperial, his dark eyes conveying a warning that the other assassin did not heed.

They had all, of course, noticed the change in the Night Mother's chosen. He was around more often, yet he had taken it upon himself to complete many of the Night Mother's tasks on his own, and had only stopped when Nazir had suggested he perhaps take a small break and let some of the "newbloods" handle the killing for awhile. Nelkir, who had been one of the people present at the time, had watched in amazement as the Listener's face had stilled moments before anger had bled into the wood elf's usually controlled features, however briefly, before he had nodded and retreated to his chambers.

The next day, he had left, and Nelkir had later been privy to a missive sent from Riften, of all places, one signed in a flourish with the name _Aamira_, saying that their dear _Arthion_ was here with her and her little group and to not worry; that he would return shortly.

Nazir had chuckled upon reading the note, muttering that the Thieves Guild had their work cut out for them, but true to the mysterious woman's words, the Listener had returned days later, looking all the more like his old self. Nelkir, however, had been worried.

"What the Listener does is none of our business," Nelkir told Aventus carefully, the weight of his words clearly conveying that he thought it best if they stayed out of it, regardless of personal worry. Aventus either didn't pick up or didn't care to heed, and Nelkir thought, grimly, that it was likely the latter.

"I think something happened," Aventus carried on, and Nelkir had to bite his lip and glance furtively around to ensure that no one was listening before he rose to his feet, grabbing Aventus by the wrist as he walked quickly towards the large stained-glass window that marked the secret entrance that many of them took to avoid traffic by the black door. Aventus, though surprised, complied easily enough, and Nelkir took the time to briefly reflect on how much their relationship had progressed these past few years as they made their way silently through the tunnel, only speaking again when they had breached the surface, the air around them still, as if in anticipation.

"We shouldn't be speaking of this," Nelkir said, but even the fact that he had brought them out here spoke of his desire to do just the opposite of his words, and Aventus caught on quickly, inclining his head with a small smile.

"I have no doubt that something happened that none of us are privy to," Aventus said quietly, shaking his head. "Something a little more… personal. Nelkir, what do you know of our exalted Listener? Truly?"

Nelkir took a deep breath at the question, his eyes squeezing shut. Truth be told, he knew more about the Listener than he perhaps should, gathered through the whispers of the others, as well as a few well-placed questions—all part of his desire to earn the elf's acceptance, which perhaps had been futile from the start, as he was beginning to realise he had already been in possession of it.

But there was more he knew, things that even the other did not, things gathered when, as a boy, he had seen a stranger walk into his home and kneel to his father, a warning of dragons on his tongue.

"I know he's the Dragonborn," Nelkir whispered, feeling, with every word, like he was betraying someone. "When a dragon attacked Helgen in my childhood, he was one of the sole survivors, and he came to warn Whiterun of the danger. He lived in my city for a while, and sometimes I—sometimes I saw him. We all thought, perhaps, he would have joined the Companions, for he spent so much time there—and my father watched him, to the best of his abilities, because he was still an elf and we didn't trust them so easily—but despite the time there, he never did. Rumours of you started circulating around that time, you know."

Aventus jerked his head in surprise at that, recoiling slightly. "Of me?"

Nelkir nodded. "Word had reached us that there was a little boy, name of Aventus Aretino, who was trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood. I wasn't supposed to know, but sometimes, when I left Dragonsreach, I could hear people in the market whispering about it. After that, the Listener vanished, and I—I went back to finding other ways to amuse myself."

"Dragonborn…" Aventus whispered. "I had heard about your Nord legends, but I didn't think such a thing existed. So he… he's the reason the dragons are gone again."

"Yes," Nelkir said simply. "And we're the only ones who now know where he vanished to. Ironic that a great Nord hero should turn out to be one of their greatest enemies, and of a race typically aligned with the Thalmor. For all that he did for them, though—for all that he vanquished the dragons once more for us, with the help of the Companions' Vilkas, or so I heard—they never knew much about him. I suppose that's why he's able to remain here, and so freely. But, when you think about it, how hard he must have had to conceal everything about himself, it makes you feel… different, I guess. I had trouble enough hiding parts of myself from the people in Dragonsreach—imagine hiding your name and everything for however long it must have taken."

They were both silent for a few moments, Nelkir almost jumping when he suddenly felt Aventus' hand rest on his shoulder, the man's fingers feeling like they were burning through Nelkir's robes and into his skin.

"Thank you," Aventus said quietly, and for hours after that they sat there in silence, contemplation, and perhaps even an inkling of mutual respect.

-x-

Contrary to popular belief, Nelkir did leave the Sanctuary for things other than his contracts. Sometimes he wandered for long hours of the night, leaving for days before returning, his mind and feet taking him from Dawnstar to cities like Morthal or even, on occasion, Solitude. He rarely, if ever, returned to Whiterun, though, so it was odd even to him that he found himself at the city's gates, his face partially hidden from view by the traveller's cloak he wore, offset by his simple black garb. The guards eyed him carefully as he passed, but Nelkir paid them little mind, and they allowed him entrance with little more than the customary warning.

Back on old territory, Nelkir could only stand for a moment and watch as the people of Whiterun moved slowly through the streets, but he was thrown by the mourning looks many of them sported. When he inquired as to the sorrowful mood of the city, a young woman told him that the city was grieving the passing of the Harbinger, Kodlak, who had been killed by their enemies, the Silver Hand.

His choice to return to Whiterun had been based tentatively on his last conversation with Aventus, but he had not told anyone where he was going, except that he would be back within some days. It seemed he had returned at the bad time, but the young woman had unwillingly gave him an excuse for being there.

"We've had a lot of travellers like you coming by to pay their respects," she had confessed to him, eyes flickering up the stone steps from the marketplace to where Jorrvaskr lay. "The Jarl has even made his way to the pyre this morning. If you hurry, you can catch them before they send Kodlak off the proper Nord way."

Nelkir had promptly thanked her, and without knowing why, he had followed his footsteps to the oldest building in Whiterun, home of the Companions. Beyond that, to his left, lay Dragonsreach, where the current Jarl would reside, and he felt a small pang before he shook his head and began walking towards the great stone steps that would lead him to the keep. He stopped when his eyes caught on the figures gathered around the Skyforge, visible from the halfway distance he had ascended to, and he was quick to climb onto the rocks of the small waterfall that cascaded downward, using the dimness of the evening to further conceal himself—not that they would be looking his way.

He almost swallowed his heart when he saw the splendidly attired Jarl of Whiterun, forever known to Nelkir as simply _Frothar, _standing among the Companions, a pretty young blonde thing at his side, her hand holding onto the no doubt sweaty palm of a young boy, likely not older than five winters. Anger built slowly in his chest, simmering, and he had to look away for a moment in order to catch his breath. Logically, he knew Frothar would have been the likely choice to take over, having been twenty-one winters at the time of their father's death, but it was still a stock.

Not as much of a shock as turning his head and seeing the familiar armour of the family, though.

Tucked away in the shadows, he could see the figure quite clearly, the shrouded hood being enough to conceal his features, but not enough to hide from Nelkir the unmistakeable figure of the Listener, whose daedric bow rested easily against his back, the weight of it not seeming to hinder him as he melted into the shadows of the Skyforge—but Nelkir, his eyes now firmly rooted to his form, could not look away, especially as one of the Companions approached him, his wolf armour glinting in the dim light, and even now, years later, Nelkir could recognise the face of Vilkas, ill-changed by time.

As he watched, Vilkas placed a hand on the Listener's shoulder, prompting the elf to look at him, the two exchanging words that that he could not hear, and though the Listener's back was to him he could see Vilkas' face well enough, and he exhaled carefully as he took in the tightness of the man's expression, and the faint creases of anger that appeared in his forehead, expressions that struck Nelkir as off, knowing the two had once worked together. The Listener did not seem bothered, though, and Nelkir watched with his stomach churning as the elf reached up to rest a gloved hand against the Companion's cheek, seeming to speak a few more words before it was withdrawn, and though Nelkir could not see clearly the expression on Vilkas' face, the way he moved told the assassin more than he needed to know.

There was something broken between them, and Nelkir could only watch with ragged breath as Vilkas withdrew to join the rest of the Companions, those who had shied instinctively from the armoured elf in the shadows.

And when the Listener slipped into the shadows of the night, Nelkir only stayed a few moments longer, his mind churning with questions and undeniable conclusions as he made his way to the Bannered Mare, where sleep failed to clear his mind.

-x-

Logic should have dictated that he kept silent over what he saw, but in the weeks that passed it became all he could think of, to the point where Aventus had begun watching him with evident concern, even going so far as to ask after his health, something he never did, though Nelkir had dismissed his worries with a clipped excuse. Perhaps a wiser man would have stayed silent, but Nelkir, now in his twenty-first year of life, had yet to earn such a title. So, one day, when the Sanctuary was quiet, he nervously approached the Listener's quarters.

The expression on the elf's face when he allowed Nelkir entrance was one of amusement, as usual, but Nelkir could sense that the Listener was waiting for him to speak, and that the warmth would run out if it did not turn out to be something of import.

"I saw you in Whiterun," Nelkir said hurriedly, his voice low and his eyes averted, so he did not need to see the expression on the Listener's face as he spoke those words. "I was—nearby, at Kodlak's funeral, and I… I saw you."

Nothing more needed to be said. The Listener was silent, and when Nelkir dared glance up the elf's head was turned from him, though not so much that Nelkir could not see the small smile that tugged at his mouth—wry, almost bitter, and tired.

"You mean you saw Vilkas and I," the Listener said lowly, and Nelkir nodded once, wincing as the Listener let out a small sigh, brushing past him to shut the door. "I suppose it was too much to hope that it would stay quiet forever. I have been told that I cannot keep such things from everyone without end, despite my wishes." He glanced back at Nelkir, who had not dared move, his black eyes glittering from underneath his hood, a strand of wavy black hair hanging in his face before he tucked it back slowly. "You cannot help what you saw, Nelkir. Ask your questions, and let us never speak of it again."

"How long?" Nelkir asked, still unable to meet the Listener's eyes even as the elf moved soundlessly around the room.

"Years," came the answer. "Before he discovered what I was. He fought dragons with me by my side, but as soon as my connections with the Brotherhood came to light, that was it." A laugh followed those words, and Nelkir shuddered at the bitterness within it. When he chanced a glance, he found the Listener was not even looking at him, his arms crossed lightly as he stared past Nelkir, as if remembering something. Nelkir swallowed, and the Listener turned his gaze back to him, smiling, though there was no comfort to be taken in the expression.

"Did you know, Nelkir, that the Circle are all werewolves?" the Listener asked abruptly, and Nelkir started visibly, blinking. "They have taken the beasts into themselves, they rough up and kill for coin when they must, and yet they find honour in what they do, and abhor us for working in the shadows." The Listener chuckled. "Perhaps they are right." A shrug followed those words, and the Listener moved passed him, heading towards the desk at the side of his bed. "To answer your real question, we no longer share anything other than disdain. One cannot expect to remain with something that holds such drastically different values, I suppose, and I would never expect someone, especially Vilkas, to give up their morals for me, like I would not do for them. So now you know a bit about me." He inclined his head then, and for the first time Nelkir saw the Listener as something more than just a living legend in their circle—the man who had dragged the Brotherhood up from ruin and turned it into the flourishing family it was now. He saw the Listener now as a man, an elf, who had, perhaps, a few ghosts buried in his past that he had trouble letting go of, as Nelkir himself did.

"I won't tell anyone," he pledged, feeling his loyalty to this shadowy assassin only increase with the new information.

"Not even Aventus?" the Listener asked, a shadow of the old amusement returning, and Nelkir felt confused before he shook his head, unsure of why the Listener thought he would breathe a thing to the Imperial. The Listener sighed again, murmuring something under his breath. "If you speak to him, Nelkir, you have my permission. I was a fool to think that this could be kept entirely from the Brotherhood."

Frowning but unwilling to speak against the Listener's words, Nelkir nodded once, and when he requested permission to leave it was granted with little more than a small breath of laughter and a dismissive hand gesture.

He had much to think upon, but when he returned to the quarters he shared with the others he was visibly relaxed, and he even managed to return Aventus' careful smile with a more genuine one of his own before he withdrew to bed, his thoughts lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

-x-

Things returned to their normal state after that. His friendship with Aventus grew, and though his mind occasionally flickered to that odd moment in the silence, when Aventus' hand had rested upon his face as if it might burn the Black Hand onto his skin, it was never discussed. He passed his twenty-second winter with the companionship of the Brotherhood, and he knew Aventus must have passed his twenty-fourth, though nothing was ever said about it. Their relationship had strengthened, and although they occasionally irritated each other, they had come far from the early days three years ago when Nelkir had refused to even show a flicker of decency to the other man. Now it was common to see Nelkir bent over the table in the main area, scribbling something down while Aventus spoke absently of whatever came to his mind. Occasionally they would even don cloaks and steal into Dawnstar together, or perhaps to nearby Morthal, smirking and throwing challenges at one another as they rode their horses to exhaustion across Skyrim's rocky landscape.

On one of those trips, one Aventus had conned Nelkir into partaking in, they had stopped somewhere along the icy shoreline between Dawnstar and Winterhold, worn from their travels. Nelkir had been confused as to why Aventus had asked him along—"You know you still have that contract to carry out, right?"—but had agreed with little hesitation, and as they had left he had caught the Listener smiling absently at them before returning his attention to whatever Cicero was enthusiastically saying.

As they lay on their respective mats, a fire burning between them, Nelkir had been struck with thoughts of the Listener, and without knowing why, had found himself allowing the story to tumble from his mouth.

Aventus had watched him unwaveringly as he spoke, and when Nelkir had finished, he had asked, simply, if Nelkir had a problem with such a relationship.

"I—no. I mean, it's over now, right? There is no danger that the Brotherhood will face because of it. It was just surprising, is all. I never in a million years would have predicted such a thing."

Aventus had merely huffed out a bit of laughter, but Nelkir had noticed the relieved edge in his friend's tone. He had not commented, however, and after swearing Aventus to silence the next morning they had gotten up and continued on their way, as if the topic had never been discussed.

-x-

In retrospect, Nelkir could not pinpoint when, exactly, he became aware of a shift in the relationship between himself and Aventus, though he knew the others had noticed it as well. Svenja had approached him once, before heading out for a contract, and remarked upon it, and he had known she had been smiling behind the mask of her cowl, though he had not responded.

Later, however, he had reflected that she was right. There was a difference between them now, like the air was charged with the electrical magic used by Vaner on his missions. At first it had not been overly noticeable, but Nelkir had noticed Aventus become more physically friendly. Now, instead of a cheerful greeting it was a fleeting brush to his shoulder and an amiable grin, and whenever Nelkir spoke to anyone else when Aventus was present, he was always aware of the man's green eyes resting, rather comfortably, on his person. At some point, their thoughts had shifted mutually towards each other, in a wholly different light.

Nelkir was no fool. He knew what it was, even before he had all but slammed into Aventus one night in the darkness, the two of them tumbling over each other in the training area, lit by only a singular torch on the walls. Aventus had not moved quick enough for Nelkir to ignore the way his green eyes had darkened, the Imperial's hands shaking slightly even as he had rolled off the younger assassin and offered a hand to him.

This went beyond a simple friendship now, and there was a effortless, accepted affection that bled warmly through Nelkir's body whenever he laid eyes on the other man, like someone had severed the main veins in his chest from the inside. He did not question the progression, and perhaps he had the Listener's tale to thank for that, and he did not attempt to fight it, letting the new shift settle comfortably within his bones. When he began reciprocating Aventus' small gestures, letting his fingers brush easily against the inside of the man's wrist as they passed each other, he was wholly conscious of the way Aventus' eyes lit up.

One day, while he had been mixing ingredients for a new kind of poison, Aventus had come in, fresh from the kill, his black hair tangled around his shoulders much like the first day he had stumbled into the Sanctuary, and Nelkir had smiled at him, struck dumb by the wave of affection he felt for the other man. When Aventus had later come to watch him work, as he often did, Nelkir had unthinkingly reached out to brush a strand of the man's black hair from his face, and had been surprised but open when Aventus had abruptly pulled him flush against his much broader chest and kissed him, much to the amusement of Babette, who had made a comment they had not heard.

There had been no formal acknowledgement, no verbal requests or questions, and Nelkir had finished brewing the rest of the poison with Aventus' arm wrapped gently around his waist as they both watched the liquids blend. Later, when he had presented the poison to the Listener for his bow, the elf had taken one look at them and chuckled, telling them that it had taken longer than he had thought it would before he had shut the door, leaving Aventus grinning sheepishly as Nelkir's face turned coloured hotly.

"You know," Aventus told him later as he cleaned his blade in the basin, "I don't think assassins are allowed to have this kind of thing. I mean, how strange is it that I can take the life of someone with no remorse, and still come home to the Brotherhood and feel this way?"

Nelkir merely raised his eyebrow, a familiar snort leaving his person. "If you think too much," he said slowly, "your brain will explode."

He wasn't much surprised when Aventus laughed, and he did not protest when the Imperial slid from his bed to pin Nelkir to his own mattress, green eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Best distract me from these thoughts, then," he said, and Nelkir complied with little more than a roll of his eyes, conscious all the while of the contentedness within him.

-x-

Windhelm slept like the dead in the absence of a moon, and Nelkir pulled his hood up wordlessly, glancing beside him where Aventus stood, nearly a head taller, his armour accentuating his broader but still lithe frame. Below them was a world for their taking, the fates of its people dictated by the whisper of their unholy matron to the ear of her faithful Brotherhood, and Nelkir smiled at the familiar weight of his dagger as it lay strapped to his thigh, almost humming with the need to take a life; to taste the blood of those they stood above and below.

To his left, Aventus' black hair blew free, black like the cowl he refused to wear, a confident and dark grin on his face as they stood on the precipice of the Brotherhood's world, side-by-side, on firmly equal ground. Wordlessly, Aventus turned to him, and Nelkir could not help the grin that slid across his face, unnerving to all but the man beside him, even as they descended the mountainside, their eyes trained identically on the ancient sleeping city, one in mind and deed.

The door to Aventus' house stood nestled in the shadows within the walls of Windhelm, and it was with deft hands that Aventus unlocked it and lead them in, and though the house smelt of dust and cobwebs and neglect, Nelkir felt his face split into a terrifying smile, one that was soon swallowed by Aventus' mouth as they moved further into the house, two merry assassins in the house that had unknowingly started it all.

His blood humming within him, Nelkir let himself breathe freely, his head tilted back in bliss. Aventus was still too loud, even all these years later, but Nelkir found, to his pleasure, that he had found a way to enjoy it at long last.

"I told you I'd show it to you one day," Aventus growled against the skin of his neck, and Nelkir could feel one of the assassin's hands tangling in his hair, even as he tugged once at Aventus' own black strands.

"You ought to fire your housekeeper," Nelkir said raggedly, and was rewarded with a sharp smile from Aventus, who bit into his lip, tasting the blood between them.

"Silence, my brother," he whispered, and, well, Nelkir could hardly argue with that, now could he?


End file.
